The old year did not feel old. It was barely in its stride. It was still young enough to want to leave. It was not old enough to know of the dangers.
The mother said Go, go now, with the wind and the snow in your face, go now, look forward, always look forward. And I, I remain, you in my heart.
The child looked at her as if she were from another time and place. The child looked at its feet and felt its own thin-stringed arms then said it would go. Now. It was its turn.
The new year was inexperienced. The new year was green below the white. The new year knew though. The new year knew.
